Voldemort's Little Adventure
by selonian
Summary: A little fun with everyone's favorite Dark Lord . . .
1. Hot Pink Rabbit, Candy, and Cinderblocks

**A/N: First fic, not my charecters, belong to J.K., blah, blah, blah . . . **

Ding-dong.

"Whozzare?" mumbled Lord Voldemort, sitting straight up in bed and rubbing his eyes.

Ding-dong, ding-dong.

"SOMEBODY GET THAT!" yelled Lucius Malfoy, snatching a waffle as it exploded out of the toaster and screaming in pain as it burned his fingers.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

"Oh!" said Wormtail, misfiring the spell his was casting and hitting Bellatrix Lestrange, causing her hair to go up in flames.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

"If it's Potter and his gang playing 'Ding-Dong-Ditch' again, I swear I'll kill the lot of them, clone them, and make their clones clean up the mess, and then feed the clones to the Giant Squid," muttered Snape under his breath.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

"SOMEBODY ANSWER THE BLOODY DOOR!" screamed Narcissa.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

"Duh," said Gregory Goyle.

"What he said," chimed in Vincent Crabbe.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

It was then that Voldemort decided he'd had enough.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"

stompstompstompstomp

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DO YOU WANT?!"

"Augh," managed the UPS man, turning a nasty, yellowish-greenish color.

"Oh, hello," said Voldemort sweetly. "Is that for me?"

Nod.

"Can I have it, please?"

Nod.

"Okay . . . can you hand it to me¿_por favor?"_

Nod.

Voldemort gently tried to pry the package out of the UPS man's hands. "You can give it to me now . . . like, now would be a good time to give it to me . . . GIVE IT TO ME!"

It took quite a bit of nerve for the UPS man to say, "I-I'm sorr-ry, s-sir, but y-you h-h-have to sign for it first." He held doggedly onto the package, which, Voldemort mused, weighed about the same as a cinderblock.

"Okay, gimme the paper." He hastily scribbled his signature, which, if one squinted at it for long enough, looked strangely and vaguely like a humpbacked moose. "_Now _can I have the cinderb-er, package?"

Nod.

"Leggo if it, then!"

Nod.

"LET GO OF THE STUPID BOX!" screamed Lord Voldemort, trying desperately to wrench it away from the UPS man, who had a frozen look about him. Finally, getting frustrated, Voldemort smacked the UPS man, screamed "OY FRICKIN VEY!" in his face, and turned him into a hot pink bunny. The UPS man, suddenly lacking opposable thumbs, let go of the box, shrieked in surprise, and hopped away down the driveway.

Meanwhile, back at the doorway, Voldemort, when the UPS man had turned into a rabbit of longer the flaming pink variety and therefore no longer able to help the Dark Lord support the extremely heavy box, dropped the box on Nagani, consequently killing her. "NOOOOOOOOO!" screamed Lord Voldemort, sounding very much like a howler monkey. "Ah, shoot, 'nother Horcrux down the drain." He scooped up the package with a fair amount of trouble and staggered in the door, kicking it shut after him.

"What is in here, anyway?" he grunted, staggering into the living room, where Avery was eating something pink and sugary looking.

"A cinderblock?" hazarded Lucius, nursing his fingers.

"Ahhhhh . . . a cinderblock! If it's a cinderblock, then I can throw it at Potter and his minions!" hissed Snape gleefully.

"Whasintheboxbossisitformesayit'sformepleasecanIhaveitboss?" gabbled Avery, noticing that Voldemort was in the room.

Voldemort grinned evilly. "Why, yeeees, Avery, it _is_ for you! However did you know?" His grin was replaced by a frown. "And did Greyback give you candy again?"

"Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . "

"Don't lie to me, Avery. Keep in mind that I can read your mind, because I can read you mind, however disturbingly empty of evil thoughts and full of thoughts of My Little Hippogriffs it may be. Did he give you candy?"

"WELL . . . it's kinda complicated . . ."

"Did. He. Give. You. Candy?"

"Um . . . yes."

"Nergh," muttered Voldemort. "Remind me to kill him."

"CanIhavetheboxnowboss?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," said Voldemort, dumping the box in his arms.

Avery dropped to the floor like a rock, pinned down by the extremely heavy package sitting on his chest. "Uh, boss," he wheezed, "I don't think I want it anymore . . . "

"Well, Avery, I'm off to find scissors to open the box," said Voldemort brightly. "Ta!"

"Boss?" said Avery, looking at the corner of the Dark Lord's fuzzy pink bathrobe as it swept around the corner. "Boss? Boss? COME BAAAACK!"

"No, don't think I will," sang Voldemort from the kitchen.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSS!" wailed Avery.

**

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**

**A/N: Oooh . . . will Avery ever get this terrible weight off his chest? Will Snape wreak his cinderblock revenge on those meddling kids? Will Voldemort find the scissors? And whatever happened to the UPS man?  
****And you WILL reveiw or my pet mutant chimpanzee WILL find you and . . . um . . . pick fleas out of your hair . . . ?**


	2. Avery Abuse! oh noes!

**A/N: Not mine, wish they were . . . let's just get on with it, what say?**

An overview of the story thus far:

A mysterious package has shown up, Voldemort is now riffling through the junk drawer in the kitchen for scissors, Lucius is quietly tending his fingers, Snape is plotting revenge on Harry Potter and his gang, Avery is desperately trying to breathe, Nagani is dead, and Wormtail is . . . wait. What is Wormtail doing?

"I'M TRYING TO PUT OUT YOUR HAIR, LESTRANGE, BUT YOU WON'T HOLD STILL!" shrieked Wormtail, dancing around a screaming Bellatrix.

Oh. That's what. Good luck to ya, buddy.

Um.

Where was I?

Oh, yees, the living room!

**

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**

**in . . . The Living Room (duh duh duh!)**

"Guuuaahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah . . . " wheezed Avery, struggling with the exceptionally cumbersome package sitting on his ribcage.

"Should we help him?" asked someone. Quite a large crowd had gathered around Avery.

"Nah," said Greyback. "He's all right."

"Are you sure?" said Malfoy Jr., going up to Avery and kicking him.

Avery made a strange noise between a grunt, a gasp, and a scream.

"Positive," replied Greyback.

"I'm ba-aaaaaaaaaack!" sang the Dark Lord.

"Gah!" yelped someone, and all seventeen of the people (excluding Snape, who was quietly scheming in the corner) in the room ran and hid behind the couch. Several fist-fights ensued and were reined in by a particularly potent glare and a snarl from Greyback.

Whistling 'Madame Butterfly' to himself, Voldemort proceeded to happily hack away at the ductape holding the box shut. He continued to whistle, all the while ignorant of the sixteen pairs of eyes trained on him. Several people whispered back and forth, wondering what in the world their leader was under the influence of. Six people believed he was insane because of the pressure, nine people were convinced that his unstable condition was, in fact, hereditary and that Salazar Slytherin was responsible for his condition, and Nott was too busy trying to catch a moth to vote. Voldemort remained blissfully unaware of the heated debate behind the couch as he merrily slashed at the box, inadvertently carving up Avery as well.

And then, suddenly, the scissors snapped.

"Huh," he said, putting the scissors down in Avery's face. Whirling around, he dashed out of the room, his pink bathrobe swirling dramatically behind him, giving the effect of a large, bald, pink bat.

"Arrgguh," said Avery, clutching his cheek.

"Where's he going?" asked one of the slower Death Eaters.

"To get the battle-ax, stoopid," said Goyle thickly.

Sure enough, five and a half minutes later, Voldemort came in, dragging a large battle-ax behind him. Yodeling something in Swahili, he brought the battle-ax crashing down upon the box.

It broke.

"Whaaaat?" shrieked the Dark Lord. He stormed out and came back with a dagger. "You're mine now, cinderblock! Mwahahahahahaaaa!" He slashed at the ductape, sure that it would easily cut through it. The ductape, like good ductape, held up under this feeble onslaught. The dagger, like a shoddily made mass produced dagger (made in China), shattered into roughly 7 pieces, one of which gouged out Avery's eye. He passed out, which is good, because he stopped complaining, and bad, because he might die, and that would be bad because . . . trust me, it'd be bad.

At this point, we will have a small intermission.

If you cannot tell, there is music playing.

Hold music.

Yeeaaaaah.

**A/N: It gets better. Trust me. Stick with it. Please. Give it a chance.**

**Oh, and btw, none of these peoples are my characters, m'kay? I never said they were. In fact, I never wrote about them, as far as you know. GOT IT?**

**Good.**

**Review. Now. Please.**


	3. OMG, FANGIRLS!

**A/N: No, the rumors are not true. I am not dead. I do not own these characters. And no, Severus Snape is NOT Harry Potter's father.  
I'll repeat this for you dummies out there who didn't read the second statement above. I do NOT own any of the characters.**

**Now that I'm done busting myths, I'll move on with the story.**

* * *

We now return to our original program.

Av-eeeer-eeeeeeeeeee!" screeched a high-pitched female voice. The entire living room began to shake, and sixteen of the Death Eaters fled the room, fearing an earthquake was coming. Snape, too, ran from the room, because he knew what was on its way. He knew that it was worse than any natural disaster. He knew the calamity that was coming.

Fangirls.

"AveryaveryaveryaveryohmigawdareyouallrightquicksomeonegetsomeFloopowdergethimtoSt.Mungosohmygawshisheallrightomigosh!" gabbled the crowd of fangirls, converging upon the unfortunate Avery, trampling Voldemort and totally ignoring his squeals of pain. They fawned over the unconscious Death Eater, fanning him and themselves with copies of the seventh Harry Potter book. "Is he all right? Oh my gosh! Here, poke him! Is he alive? Oh my GOSH!" Several of them were armed with wands, and they set to poking at his wounds and healing him, all the while still yakking on and on about how abusive Voldemort was and just how unloved and underappreciated Avery was.

One fangirl, wearing a black shirt that had "I HEART AVEREE" scrawled across it in silver sharpie, turned to Voldemort. "YOU DID THIS," she hissed lividly, pointing an accusing finger at the Dark Lord. The rest of the fangirls, finished with the healing of Avery, turned as one to glare at Voldemort.

"No, no, no, it wasn't me, it wasn't me!" gabbled Voldemort, scrambling backwards and scrabbling for his wand. He bumped into something furry and vaguely threatening. Casting his gaze up, he met a pair of green smiling eyes. "Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm the author!" said the black . . . thing. "Selonian." It smiled even brighter.

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight . . . " said Voldemort.

"So . . . um . . . Voldemort, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Did you know that your name means Flight Of Death?" It snorted, shaking it's head. "Sounds like a circus act to me, I mean, jeez!"

" . . . circus act?"

"Yes, a circus act. And, honestly, dude! You have sunk to a new low. You can't flip the box over and read the print that clearly says 'Open This End.'"

"Open this way . . . ?"

"What are you, a parrot?" It sighed. "Listen, flip the box over, use your knife to open it that way, then get on with it."

"GET ON WITH IT!" roared Eric Idle.

"Who invited you here? This is a Harry Potter fan fiction, not a cross-over! Get out! Get, get!" It produced a rubber chicken from midair and proceeded to chase Idle out the door, all the while beating him with the rubber chicken. "GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!"

"What . . . what just happened?" mumbled Voldemort.

"I . . . have . . . no . . . clue," said Avery, sitting up slowly.

"What did that thing say? It said something about the box."

"She," said Avery offhandedly.

"What?"

"It's a she. The black furry thing was a she."

"Really?"

"Yep. She's a Selonian."

"Wait, I thought she _was _Selonian. I thought that was her name."

"Naw, see, these Selonians are funny little blighters. They talk reeeeeal funny like, and it's a doozy to try and understand 'em, see," commented a random Australian, dressed all in khaki and armed with a large aluminum baseball bat. "Whatcha gotta do is find a biiiiiiiiiig stick, and start beating the Selonian with it until it starts making sense."

"Who are you?" asked Voldemort incredulously, staring at the guy.

"The name's Bruce. Bruce . . . Bruce."

"Your name is Bruce Bruce Bruce?"

"Naw, me name is Bruce Bruce the Second."

"So your father was Bruce Bruce the First?"

"No, me father was Bruce Bruce Bruce. Me mother was Bruce Bruce the First."

"You've lost me," said Avery blankly.

"Of course we have," muttered Voldemort darkly.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" screamed a random fangirl.

"Uh . . . "stammered Voldemort, his red eyes wide with fear. "I said, uh, that he was, um . . . " he fumbled for a word. Rhymes with have, rhymes with have, rhymes with have . . . "Uuuuh, um, very, um, uh . . . fab. Yeah, fab. Short for fabulous." He grinned nervously.

She glared at him for several seconds, then said—

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! CLIFFHANGER!

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**A/N: SO, will we ever figure out just who this Bruce Bruce character is? Or why he's essential to the plot? Or why he has a baseball bat? Will Avery ever find his way back into the conversation? (Highly unlikely, that is.) Will Voldemort survive the wrath of the fangirls? And, most importantly, will you survive to the next chapter, or will the suspense kill you? Tune in next week to find out! Or month. Or whenever I get around to posting again.**

**I want to thank my lovely beta, Arastel. Check her out, she has a lot of cool fics! ****/u/1290912/Arastel**


End file.
